Hey @pocket-anon!! Here is part 2 of your GFSS gift. I hope you like it. It’s not much, just a little Christmassy one-shot based during S4.
Part 1 of your gift is HERE
That feeling of family
The loft radiated with cozy warmth while various scents of sage, roasted vegetables, ham, cinnamon and pastry clung to air inside. Swirls of green, gold, red and beige blurred to create a glow in the atmosphere.
It was the perfect epitome for the season.
Christmas.
The town had been blissfully quiet since Gold had been banished, giving everyone a chance to enjoy a peaceful Storybrooke for once… and everyone was throwing themselves into having a great holiday.
It wasn’t the first Christmas for Emma and her parents. They’d managed to squeeze in a slap-dash meal and gift exchange the year before amongst the chaos, but with relations still being up in the air, it had been rather awkward for the savior.
But this year was going to be different.
Emma kept Snow company as the woman rolled out dough, humming along to the low radio in the background. Snow had a schedule this year, which meant no rushing, no panicking and no stress.
David and Henry had gone out for some ‘male bonding’ time and were due back in an hour or so, and Killian was invited to join them any time soon.
Killian.
That thought had Emma smiling to herself as she fiddled with the cookie cutters on the counter. He’d practically become part of the loft furniture lately. He was always coming over to meet her, walk her home or just spending time with her and her family during the evenings. It seemed only right that he would be invited for Christmas too.
Her father had grumbled about it, purely out of obligation at being her dad, but she knew he secretly looked forward to having another male companion around.
She was looking forward to it too. It was a big step when she thought about it; her boyfriend being a part of her family’s celebrations. It was a sign of things becoming serious; more permanent. But she was surprised to find it wasn’t as frightening as she thought it would be.
It felt natural.
Killian had slowly become part of their little family and it wasn’t making her want to run away. In fact, she more wanted to run towards it.
“What’s got you smiling like that?”
Emma turned to look at her mother’s curious stare. She didn’t get the chance to answer her, as a hefty knock at the door signalled someone’s arrival.
She jumped down from her stool and made her way over to the door, surprised to see Killian with his hook and hand loaded with gift bags.
“Swan.”
He made his way inside, smiling at her surprised state.
“Don’t take this the wrong way but, if your plan was to move in…”
“Very funny, love.” He placed the bags on the dining table “I was informed that gifts are customary for this occasion so I thought it best to bring some.”
“Oh, Killian. You didn’t have to do that.” Snow cooed as she abandoned her baking to inspect the loot.
Emma watched with amusement as Snow helped him unpack the bags filled with various wrapped boxes.
“I also picked up a few wine options. I didn’t know what would be the best choice. There’s also a bottle of Tennessee’s finest in there for David. And some of that bubbly stuff for the lad.”
Emma melted as he mumbled through his explanation, taking in his slight shuffle and the tampering of his right ear.
He was nervous.
It hit her in that moment that this was a big deal for him too. How long had it been since he’d been included in anything? Felt a part of something?
How long since he’d felt part of a family?
Emma waited until Snow had set the gifts aside and moved to the kitchen with the bottles of drink before approaching her boyfriend.
She slid her hands up to his shoulders and smiled at him as he placed his hand and hook on her waist.
“That was very sweet of you.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“You know, you didn’t have to go to all that effort. Just you being here is enough.”
Killian couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.
“Is that so?”
She leaned in and captured his lips in a slow soft kiss.
She was becoming addicted to this; these tender moments where they could just be.
She pulled away before it could deepen, remembering she was in the middle of her family’s home. She turned to see Snow was back at it with the cookie dough, but the blush on her cheeks and the downcast look told her she was attempting to give the couple their privacy.
“Something smells divine. Anything I can help with, milady?” Killian asked as casually as he could as he and Emma joined her in the kitchen area.
“That depends. How good are you at carving cookie trees?”
All too soon, the three of them were engaged in baking all types of shaped cookies to serve up.
The evening had been wonderful.
David and Henry had returned with an excitable retelling of what they’d been up to at the stables. Henry had managed to mount his horse without help finally and was almost ready to take him out into the small pen for a proper ride, causing the boy to be even more excited than originally thought possible.
He’d noticed the additional gifts in the corner and had checked them straight away. David seemed surprised when the boy announced they were from Killian, and after an awkward moment between the two men, David nodded to him with an earnest ‘thank you’ and a mild shift between them occurred.
They all chatted amongst themselves until snow served up a hearty dinner that they were all too ready to consume.
Of all the things Killian could have been enraptured with, he’d surprised everyone by showing an odd fascination with broccoli. It managed to make them chuckle, forgetting that he didn’t have cursed modern memories and still found a few things of this realm strange.
After dinner, they’d pulled out the board games that Snow was all too eager to get tucked into. They were just finishing up a game of Cluedo when Regina arrived to collect Henry for the evening.
Emma couldn’t help the small slither of sadness that overcame her as Henry went to collect his things.
She knew he’d be back tomorrow and that he was looking forward to spending some time with his other mother, and she wasn’t worried about him staying with the woman like she used to be; they’d developed a great understanding when it came to sharing their son’s time.
But Emma just didn’t want their night to end. It was selfish but she’d been completely overwhelmed with the happiness she was feeling having all her family together.
But she also knew Regina deserved to have her happiness with Henry too.
While the woman in question was engaged in conversation with David and Killian, Emma followed Snow into the bedroom, where she’d started to change her baby brother and prepare him for bed.
“Hey, mom?” Emma was slightly nervous, which was ridiculous for a woman her age. “Would you and dad be okay with Killian staying the night?”
Emma suddenly felt like a teenager, especially when her mother gave her a raised eyebrow.
“Not like that.” She quickly reassured her. “It’s just… this has been nice. I don’t really want the night to end.” She admitted.
Emma felt her cheeks flare at her confession.
She found the courage to look back at Snow, who was looking at her with pride and awe. Her daughter was letting down her walls and opening up, and it was beautiful.
“Of course he can.” She beamed. “It has been nice, hasn’t it?”
Emma could only smile in return.
She gave Henry a final goodbye and saw Regina out. David had decided to make hot tea for everyone, leaving her and Killian alone.
“I should probably head back myself.” He announced as he approached Emma.
“Or, you could stay.” She offered shyly.
Killian looked uncertain. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It’s fine. I mean, only if you want to.”
He kissed her forehead and pulled her in for an embrace.
“I suppose I better make myself at home then?” he teased.
And it was as easy as that. They settled themselves in the seating area of the loft and enjoyed a few moments of affection while they waited for David and Snow to join them.
“Wait- are you serious?”
“Absolutely. Why do you think he was known as Caleb the pirate pastor? Although I always found that name to be rather insulting to our reputation.”
“I honestly had no idea.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it too much, mate. He’d fooled many a man in the Enchanted forest. Not a biblical bone in his body as far as I’m aware.”
Emma sat snuggled under Killian’s arm as she listened to him and her parents retell stories from the enchanted forest. The snug warmth in the loft and the deep vibrations from Killian’s chest were lulling her to sleep but she didn’t want to give in just yet.
She closed her eyes and let herself bask in the comfort. She could get used to this; the safe, content feeling of belonging.
Of home.
“Are you falling asleep on me, love?” Killian rumbled softly in her ear.
“Nope. Still awake.”
He chuckled and she felt him press a kiss to her forehead as he tightened his hold on her.
“It is getting rather late.”
Emma opened her eyes at Snow’s observation.
“We’ll see you two in the morning.” She bid the couple goodnight and sent David a warning glare. David simply nodded and followed his wife towards their room.
Emma should have felt nervous. She was about to share her bed with Killian for the first time, with her parents barely twenty feet away from them. She should have been feeling a lot of things. But when she’d returned to her room, clad in her pyjamas to find him stripped down to his underwear, legs covered by her duvet and removing his brace, Emma could only feel one thing.
She felt right.
And as she made herself comfortable under the covers and wrapped herself up in the man beside her, she realized this was what she wanted.
This was how she wanted her life to be from now; to come home to her loving family and fall asleep in her pirate’s arms.
And as far as Christmases go… this one knocked all the others out the park.
How not to fall for Killian Jones (and other failed endeavours)
SURPRISE! Hey @xerxesrises, tis I, your very tardy GFSS! This is one of those situations where what I set out to write bears little to no resemblance to what ended up on the page or what I had planned to write initially. Regardless, I hope you like it.
A huge thank you to my wonderful beta, nickillian/Ztofan, for all her tireless efforts to make my writing not suck!
Also on FF.NET and AO3
She wasn’t really good at any kind of resolutions - New Year’s or otherwise. Maybe that was why it was so easy to break them.
7:52 pm Failure one: Not thinking of or fully considering the consequences
Bored and listless, Emma Swan drummed her nails on the surface of her standard issue corporate desk. Around her, the office was silent, its beige walls absent of the echoed sound of her workmates chatter. This was unsurprising, considering it was New Year’s Eve and almost 8pm but still disconcerting when used to the hubbub of the dozens or so coworkers who shared the twelfth floor. She stared at the phone for the hundredth time, willing it to ring and give her something to do, yet it remained stubbornly quiet.
Letting out a frustrated huff, she picked up her lukewarm coffee and knocked back an unpleasant gulp while she reminded herself that she had volunteered to work that night (and that it was triple pay that she badly needed).
It had seemed a great idea at the time; now, not so much.
She slipped her hand into the pocket of the red leather jacket that hung over her chair and pulled out a small, black leather notebook. It had been a gift from her closest friend and one time roommate - Mary Margaret - one that had started out as a trendy ‘bullet journal’ when Emma had complained one too many times about not being focused enough in her life. Her friend had sworn that this would change everything. Well, it hadn’t taken long for daily lists with twee little codes and pretty pens to be replaced with grocery lists scrawled in sharpie and the once pristine pages to be stuffed with receipts and business cards.
Emma flicked to the back and grabbed one of the number 2 pencils that sat in a pot on her desk. She scrawled at the top of the page: Emma Swan, 2016. And beneath began a start assessment of her life.
31 years old
Proud renter of a one bedroom apartment with a kickass view of Boston Harbor
Owner of a car older than she is
Single
Hopelessly addicted to hot cocoa (with cinn
Stuck in a goddamn rut.
She underlined the last one three times. Tapping the eraser of the pencil against the page, she paused.
Mary Margaret had once told her that her problem was that she spent so long pondering what direction to take her life yet so little time putting anything into action (hence the damn journal). At the time she had brushed off the comment, but now, begrudgingly, she had to admit her friend was right. While Mary Margaret was always working on improving herself (and had even found just about the best still-single man in the city), Emma was still exactly where she had been for the past few years. That’s not to say that Emma was unhappy… just a little lost. Or maybe unfulfilled. And certainly lacking in direction.
Like her current place of work, for example. It was yet another one of those situations where her laissez faire attitude had led her down a path that she had not intended. See, this job was supposed to be temporary - a short work contract, earning her enough to pay some of her overdue rent and get her landlord off her back. An old friend, Ruby, had hooked her up after they’d met up for some drinks and Emma had bemoaned her financial situation. A few weeks working for Mills Security Systems seemed an easy enough way to supplement her bail bonds income (which had taken a nose dive that Spring) and when her friend had told her it was 20 dollars an hour for simply monitoring some alarm systems and taking a few calls, she’d been sold.
Yet now the year was drawing to a close but her ‘temporary’ contract was still going. She had just about paid back her rent when her car had decided to break down, maxing out her credit card and thus extending her supplemental job. She’d even became eligible for basic health care now she’d been there for so long…
Okay, so there were a few positives. She had her own desk - which was a step up from working out of the driver’s seat of her VW Bug. It even had three, half-sized walls around it which gave a modicum of privacy when she was sending WhatsApp messages during working hours. She did like the paycheck. It came in a crisp white envelope, once a week delivered to her little cubicle (the one labeled E. Swam in some clerical error. She’d changed the M to and N with a Sharpie). She liked the regular (ish) hours and the climate controlled environment that meant less time spent freezing in her car or apartment (heating wasn’t cheap during the cold-ass east coast winter). She even liked most of her coworkers. So far, so good?
Well, there was one particular fly in the ointment that made her resolve to quit the job as soon as possible even stronger: Killian Jones, the head of finance who she’d met that first week, and then tried to avoid ever since.
Okay, okay, let’s back up a little.
It had been her third day. She’d already jammed the copier and gotten scolded for taking someone else’s coffee cup from the break room (seriously, it was plain white and looked exactly like all the others). She’d been told to attend a team strategy meeting one floor up on 12 and arrived with her (non-stolen) coffee cup and a minute to spare meaning the only seat in the tiny room had been next to… him. Him being the most attractive man she had seen in a long, long time. Her quick assessment of him as she looked for a seat noted his glossy dark hair and piercing blue eyes and the nonchalant way he crossed his legs at the ankles as they sprawled out in front of him. It wasn’t like she was exactly an innocent gal, but the way he had looked her up and down as she approached the chair beside him had her stomach doing flips and an uncomfortable heat growing between her thighs.
Goddamn it.
(It had been way too long.)
Then as she’d sat, he’d turned and looked her in the eyes, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. He’d introduced himself and then asked her name, repeating it in his silky English accent. It had cut through her like a hot knife through butter and she’d known straight away that he was trouble.
Hey, if things had been different, if she’d met him at a club after a few drinks, she’d have made it quite clear that she thought he was highly fuckable and then added him to her ‘one and done’ list. But even Emma Swan, not exactly employee of the year, knew that one night stands with work colleagues were a recipe for disaster.
Problem was, he was gorgeous. He was that easy kind of handsome. The kind that took your breath away but at the same time just suited him so well that you couldn’t help but stare, even as your cheeks flushed and your mind turned to goo. And then there was just something about the way he held himself, his manner and posture, that made her want to fucking swoon.
So like a rabbit startled by headlights, she’d decided then and there to not put herself in any situation where she’d be tempted to exercise poor judgment–no matter how freaking hot he was. When the meeting was over she’d scuttled back to the 11th floor as he was distracted by a coworker, yet not without the nagging feeling he was watching her as she left.
Of course, despite her efforts, that wasn’t the only time they had interacted.
A few weeks later, for Ruby’s birthday, a bunch of people had headed to a bar downtown after work to toast in her new age with pineapple margaritas. She didn’t think Killian Jones was exactly a friend of Ruby’s (though she’d mentioned offhand just how ‘hot’ he was in his ‘tight, ass-hugging pants’) so Emma hadn’t hesitated to tag along. But, unexpectedly, he had turned up, looking perfect in a pale grey suit and sky blue shirt, his tie removed and his hair ruffled oh-so-perfectly.
Emma had almost panicked. Which she knew was ridiculous… He was just a guy! She’d met thousands! But whenever she glanced in his direction (and she couldn’t resist), it seemed like he was wearing the most intense, curious look that had made her feel completely naked and exposed. It had ended up with her feeling hot under the collar and thoroughly frustrated. So she took the only action she could in such a situation. Putting on her best stony-faced look, she’d done her utmost to stay as far away from him as possible, practically gluing herself to the birthday girl’s side. Strategically, she had positioned herself as much out of his line of sight as she could, purposely avoiding his gaze. (And maybe, once or twice, when she had allowed herself to look again at him… maybe she saw an expression on his face that looked like disappointment.)
After that close call, they’d found themselves frequenting the coffee cart in the lobby together a few times. Waiting in line, she’d pretended not to see him, instead attempting to focus her attention on her phone. He hadn’t tried to speak to her those times. Clearly, her cool demeanor was working. See, the one thing Emma possessed in bucket loads, was self-restraint.
And I suppose the question that needs to be answers is why was she so adamantly avoiding this man? Simple. She just didn’t do relationships. After a couple that crashed and burned quite spectacularly, she’d came to the very adult conclusion that she was just not designed to be part of a pair.
Emma Swan did just fine on her own, thank you very much
Huffing softly, she opened a drawer and tossed the damn notebook away and out of her view.
***
8:31 pm
Time continued to drag painfully slowly.
Tink, the girl who usually worked the evening shift, was visiting family for the holidays and the rest of the team had split her tasks between them. Emma’s sole role tonight was to answer any customer service calls (thanks to Mills Security’s promise of ‘365 days service’) and log the details so the client could be contacted during normal office hours. She had zero idea why they just didn’t use a phone service.
She was staring at drunken photos on Facebook of friends celebrating at the parties that she could have been at when she heard a noise at the other end of the floor. She knew it was only her and a security guard working that night, so she immediately grabbed the pepper spray she kept in her purse and peered over the top of her partition. Then the sound of a bang behind her practically made her jump out of her skin and she spun around.
What the fuck.
It was Killian Jones, bending down to pick up what looked like a bottle of champagne that was rolling along the floor, his perfect arse exactly in her line of sight as it strained against his oh-so-tight dark jeans.
(She flushed as she imagined his ass sans those jeans.)
“Shit,” she cried as her heart raced and she tried futilely to look away, “You scared me!”
“Sorry,” he replied, sheepishly dropping his chin as he stood up. “Didn’t realize anyone was up here.”
With desperately feigned aloofness, she folded her arms. She could be cool. She was alone with the a guy she’d had some pretty R rated dreams about in a deserted office building. No biggie.
(Yeah, there had been dreams to… It had been a very, very long time and he was very, very attractive.)
“Well, I am. What are you doing here?”
He smiled. (Damn he had an amazing smile.) “Ah, I left earlier and realized I’d forgotten to file a report.”
She eyed the bottle in his hands. “And you thought you’d celebrate that fact?”
“Oh, I need to keep this chilled. I was just up here to use your refrigerator - the one on 11 doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Right,” she nodded, relaxing just a little as the initial shock of his appearance faded. These were the most words she had ever shared with the guy. She vaguely wondered if he even remembered her name.
(Because she knew his: and that he had one brother and that he had moved from England five years earlier and that he owned a sailboat - yeah, her colleagues liked to talk and she was an apt pupil when it came to Killian Jones 101.)
“So you heading to a party?” she asked, feeling a strange mixture of jealousy and yearning as he nodded.
“That’s the plan,” he smiled, “My brother said I need to stop being a miserable sod and enjoy myself for the holidays.”
“Your brother sounds like my old roommate. She’s still offended I volunteered to work tonight rather than attend her potluck dinner.”
He smiled again, much broader, exposing his pearly white teeth and she was struck by the fact that when he did so, he looked even more handsome. Her heart did a little jump and she suddenly felt, well, a little shy.
“Well, I’d better-” she hitched her thumb towards her silent phone.
He nodded. “Happy New Year, Emma.”
“Happy New Year,” she echoed.
(She really did like the way he said her name.)
***
9:37 pm Failure two: Keeping promises to herself
Twenty two minutes spent playing Candy Crush.
Thirty five on Facebook.
Eleven spent composing the perfect inspirational New Year post.
And not a single goddamn phone call.
The dollar signs that had convinced her to volunteer were slowly morphing into visions of the glasses of champagne she was missing by not attending Mary Margaret’s potluck. She pulled out the notebook and flicked back to the list she had made earlier. Her life laid out in the stark grey lines of the pencil was particularly sobering. Sure, she was doing… fine. Better than many. Yet something was missing, she just wasn’t sure what.
Maybe Mary Margaret was right - maybe she did need to really make some changes this year. She’d never been one for New Year’s resolutions, but what could it really hurt to do something different? Because doing the same old things year after year wasn’t really getting her anywhere. Hadn’t she wanted to travel and see the world? To be brave and take some chances? (Secretly, she’d dreamed of opening her own bonds bureau for over a year.) If nothing else she knew that she did not want to spend her next New Year’s Eve surrounded by grey partition walls and lingering regrets.
The sound of Killian Jones clearing his throat startled her and she jumped in time to see him standing now six feet away, the bottle of champagne he had earlier back in his hands and covered in beads of condensation.
“Shit,” she cried, placing her hand on her racing chest, “You need to stop doing that.”
“Apologies, love,” he said advancing a step closer to her desk.
“S’fine,” she replied, waving away his apology with her hand. She looked at the bottle of champagne with more than a little envy. “So you done?”
“Aye,” he nodded, his hair bouncing over his forehead.
“Then off to this party of yours..?”
He gave her an awkward smile and then tilted his head to one side. He opened his mouth to speak and then paused before dampening his lips and repeating the process. “Look, this may sound a bit mad, but what are you doing tonight?”
“Umm…” She gave him a curious look and then gestured towards her phone. “I’m the customer support til the automated system kicks in at one a.m. and everything is forwarded to India.”
“Oh, yeah,” he grinned rubbing his hand across his face. “Of course you are. Mills Security’s famous promise of US-based call centers.”
A peculiar light feeling bubbled in her chest as Killian Jones - object of her lust and fascination for months now - danced awkwardly from foot to foot-
“You see, the thing is, my brother-”
“The one who said you’re a miserable sod?”
“Aye, that’s the one.” He gave her a quick, searing glance and she felt a shiver ripple down her spine. “Well, he always says I’m too uptight. That I need to be more spontaneous.”
“Okay…” she said, wondering where he was going with this.
“So, Emma Swan, who has been avoiding me since I clapped eyes on her gorgeous self five months ago, how do you feel about joining me?”
Stunned, Emma felt like she’d been slapped in the face. But in a good way. “Huh?”
“The party. I believe it’s custom to bring a date?”
Her mouth gaped open.
What was her life right now? Was she not just minutes earlier contemplating doing something different and out of her comfort zone? It was like he was freaking psychic.
Immediately, her usual defenses flung right up, spewing out reasons why this was a very, very bad idea.
“But the calls-”
“You can forward them to your cell phone.”
“If they find out-”
“They won’t.”
“I won’t know anyone there…”
“You’ll know me… And, Emma Swan,” she blushed as he said her full name for the second time in the span of a minute, “I would really, really like to get to know you better.”
Oh shit.
Now this was unexpected and quite frankly, scary territory. She had sworn to stay away from him, but now that seemed like such a ridiculous thing to do as she stared into his beautiful blue eyes.
She looked down at her sweater and jeans combo.
“I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”
“You look great to me.”
She was running out of excuses. And actually wanting to make excuses.
A thought suddenly occurred.
“Just gimme a minute.”
***
Ruby Lucas, whilst a great girlfriend, was foremost known among her circle of friends for her active social life and exacting preparations. As such, she kept a selection of outfits in the breakout room lockers just in case of any last minute post-work drinks or dinner invitations that just could not be attended in her usual office attire.
Most of them were short, but since Ruby was a couple of inches taller than Emma, she was able to find a black wiggle dress which fit just about right, landing an inch above her knee, with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It was sexy, but not too sexy. (Since she didn’t know what this was - was it a date? She wasn’t an expert in last minute New Year’s plans when she was really supposed to be working.)
She dug out a pair of black pumps with a medium sized heel that were only a little too big and checked her reflection. She was pretty sure Ruby would not mind when she found out. She was actually pretty sure Ruby would quite the opposite of mind. Next, she grabbed the emergency makeup bag that also lived in the locker and added some layers of blush and mascara before finishing the look with a red Dior lipstick that even she had to admit was very flattering. A spritz of perfume before she ran a brush through her (thankfully, freshly washed) hair and she was ready. And her heart was racing.
Nervously, she stepped back into the office. A cool shiver trickled over her skin. What was she doing? She was about to turn back, when-
“Well now, I have to admit, that’s much better.”
She hadn’t thought it was possible to blush any deeper because of this man and she had been wrong. He gave her a slow, appreciative look, one that was hot and spine tingling yet not disrespectful. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Oh, this old thing,” she teased.
He held out his hand, “Shall we? I have a car waiting.”
“A car?” she asked.
He shrugged, “I’m CFO, have to take advantage of the perks at some point.”
“What the hell,” she shrugged in reply, placing her hand in his and letting him lead her to the elevator.
***
10:52 pm Failure three: A total misunderstanding of what she had gotten herself into
‘Party’ was perhaps a bit of an understatement. The event was being held at one of those trendy little bars in Union Square with oversized art on the walls that contrasted with simple, neutral furniture and neon accessories. It was being hosted by a client of Mills Security, as it turned out, Killian had explained on the journey there that he’d been given the company invite.
It had been so hard concentrating on what he had been saying in the back of the sleek black sedan that had been waiting for them. Even though the back seat was pretty roomy by her VW bug size standards, they still seemed to be achingly close together as the car pulled away.
Then it hit her just how crazy this was! Five months of avoiding this man, only for her resolve to crumble in seconds. But she couldn’t find herself regretting her snap decision. He smelled damn good next to her. She peeked over at him, noticing how he’d left the top few buttons of his navy shirt open, showing a hint of chest hair. Her eyes lingered there. Biting her lip softly, she wondered just what that would feel like under her palms.
Down girl, she warned herself, puffing a breath of air over her face and trying to shift her focus onto anything other than him.
Upon arrival, Kilian had gifted the bottle of champagne upon the host (One August W. Booth, local furniture magnate and pretty skeezy in Emma’s opinion) before scooping up their own champagne flutes and observing the scene of the party in full swing.
“So,” she sighed, feeling a little awkward as she ran her free hand over the satin of her skirt and tried to think of something smart or witty to say.
“Maybe we should… mingle?” he suggested. She sighed in relief; she wasn’t quite ready to engage in solo conversation.
“I’d like that,” she smiled, taking his offered arm as they wandered into the crowd.
Up to this point, her attraction to him had been almost purely physical. But as they spent the next hour moving around the different guests and drinking just enough champagne to take the edge off her nerves, she started to see that he was really a great guy. Being one of those business-like occasions where most people don’t know each other that well, he was fantastic at putting others at ease and introducing himself (and slipping some of them a business card or two). He had the perfect combination of wit and charm that seemed to win over every woman - and man - in the room. And if she was a little proud of the envious looks some of them gave her, that was merely a bonus.
Finally, her feet began to ache and the two sought out a small table in the corner of the room.
“Wow, you really know how to work a room!”
He beamed before ducking his head a little at the compliment. “I’m generally better with people I don’t know.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not the easiest man to get to know.”
Emma shrugged and took another sip from a fresh glass of champagne. “Well, it’s not like I’ve exactly tried to…”
“I noticed.”
“You did?”
“I tried to overlook the hiding from me at Ruby’s birthday bash, but by the third time you ignored me at the coffee cart, I was beginning to take the hint.” He pouted a little, his full pink lips looking so inviting that she could help but stare for a few seconds. “Truth is, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages.”
“You have?”
“Emma, I’ve been quite taken by you for months now.”
How was this happening? Her breathing began to quicken.
“But you were giving me very clear signals that you weren’t interested.”
“I don’t…” she began, ready to spout out her usual ‘don’t do relationships’ spiel, when she realized just how lame it sounded. “Yeah, I guess I did. But what about this-” she gestured to the party in full swing around them.
He smiled a little coyly before his gaze dropped to studying the glass in his hands. “Before I came into the office, I’d been on a call with my brother - he lives in England and you know, time differences made it past New Year there. He was quite merry and told me that it was about bloody time that I got over myself and started living a little.”
“He sounds more and more like my friend.”
Gently, he placed the glass on the small table in front of them. Looking up, his eyes flitted over her face. “Maybe we have something in common, then; people in our lives who care more than we think we deserve. I’ve spent years living in the past, Emma, using shit I couldn’t control as an excuse to not try to change. But then I spoke to Liam and then you were there and - do you believe in fate?” she shrugged, “Well I’m not sure I do either, but I figured if ever some higher power was telling me I needed to make a change, it was tonight when I saw you in the office.”
Her breath caught in her throat as she absorbed his words. “And the change?”
“It was taking a chance and putting myself out there,” He edged a little closer on the loveseat upon which they sat, until their knees jostled together, “Honestly, I was fully prepared for rejection and having to begin to avoid you.”
Lashes fluttering like some paperback heroine, Emma let herself reply with a bright smile. “I’m glad you did.”
“So am I,” he whispered.
They tipped their glasses together, exchanging daring glances as they drank. The bubbles danced over her tongue the way only a really expensive champagne can. Slowly, the music around them changed from lively into something with a more mellow beat.
“Care to dance?” he asked.
“You can dance?”
“I have many talents.”
A peal of light laughter fell from her lips as she took his hand and let him lead her to where a few other couples were swaying together. He placed her arms around his neck and his own hands about her hips. The heat, the champagne and this intoxication of him made the room swirl pleasantly, tempting her to place her head on his chest, while a part of her deep inside hummed ‘this feels right’.
***
11:59 pm Failure four: Making sensible and rational decisions
The music became quieter as the minutes ticked towards midnight. The pair paused in their dance and Emma let her fingers brush against the tendrils of hair that spilled over his collar. He looked at her, his focus dancing between her eyes and lips until she thought she might burst with the tension.
“Hey, remember what you said about being spontaneous?”
“Yes,” he whispered, just as the countdown began.
This time it was her turn to focus on his lips. She knew that kissing him could be a beginning of something. It had been so long since she had felt that way about a man and that scared her. But not enough to stop.
Her fingers slipped from his hair to slide under the lapel of his thin wool jacket, hands drawing down over his shoulders and balling in the material, as she reached up on her toes. A second passed by, where their eyes met and both smiled, then there was a little jump in her stomach as she leant into him and pressed her mouth to his. Instantly, she was consumed by emotion: happiness, desire, fear- Until the simple physical motion of lips upon lips engulfed her completely, drowning out the countdown echoing around them. Her whole body tingled as he wrapped his arms around her pulled her body flush.
They fell apart to rousing shouts of ‘Happy New Year’, her fingers still tangled in his jacket, breathless and exhilarated.
“Wow,” she sighed, her senses slowly returning.
“Yeah,” he agreed. His cheeks were a captivating pink. Without thinking, she reached up her hand to brush against them.
“So, do you have any resolutions?” she whispered.
“Well, I definitely want to do that again.”
“Oh do you?” she teased.
“Yes,” he replied, his voice serious; the air around them suddenly thick-
And then it was as if the rest of the room faded away. He took hold of her hand, edging it back around his neck before crushing his mouth against hers once more.
Emma Swan was pretty sure she was drowning. Her whole body throbbed with need as she chased each motion of his lips. As first (or technically second-) kisses go, it was up there with the best; the explosive chemistry between them so palpable that the idea of not taking this further made her gut ache.
Resting her hands on his shoulders, she paused the kiss, whispering, “Follow me,” not waiting for a response before she took hold of his hand from her waist and pulled him with her towards the service area behind the bar which currently stood deserted.
“Kiss me,” she demanded, letting him push her against the wall, his hips anchoring her own in place so that she could feel his erection pressing heavily against her and making her wish that she was wearing a more forgiving skirt that would have allowed her to wrap her legs around him and seek out the friction she so wanted.
His needy lips did as she desired, desperately claiming her again: a little recklessly, certainly without restraint, almost bruising in their determination. One hand gripped her waist while the other snuck under the hem of her skirt, teasing her thigh while his lips found her neck. She let her hands thread through his hair, not caring if she mussed it up, just wanting this feeling to not end; wanting to be as close as she could to him and whatever magic spell he had placed over her.
Finally, he tipped back his head and took a few deep breaths.
“Emma, this wasn’t what I intended-”
“You want to stop?” she asked, feeling slightly mortified at the idea she had entirely misread the situation.
“God, no-” he cupped her face with his hands, “I just don’t want you to think that this was my aim when I asked you to come here.”
She saw honesty in his eyes - she’d always been great at telling when someone was lying. Mary Margaret called it her superpower. He was telling the truth.
“I don’t think that,” she smiled, “If I’m honest I don’t even know what’s happening right now,” she swallowed hard and then added, “But I do know I don’t want it to stop.”
A flash of understanding crossed his face and he tipped his face closer, “Well, maybe we need to take this elsewhere…” he let the words linger a moment between them.
“Is that car still available?”
He nodded and she became captivated for a moment by his unfairly thick lashes that curved back and further enhanced the mesmerising blue hue of his eyes.
“Then let’s go.”
***
The car ride was almost unbearable. There were too many thoughts in her mind to cope with being so close to him and not having him there and then. What was going on? What was she doing? What was he thinking?
And she was taking him back to her place.
Emma Swan did not bring men back to her own apartment - it was too intimate, it suggested she wanted more. But the invitation had fallen from her lips without hesitation and she’d given her address to the driver before she could overthink it.
Their hands rested next to each other, spanning the small gap between them. Emma counted the beats of her heart as the street lights zipped by. Then his fingers inched closer, slowly overlapping hers until he had taken hold of her hand. She looked at him, half hidden in the shadow of the dark interior, flashes of light flickering over his face.
God, she wanted to kiss him again. Waiting was such sweet torture - but she knew should she touch him like that now they would be consummating their new found chemistry on that very seat. So instead, she focused on the feel of his hands on her and let her eyes roam over his figure as he did the same. She could feel him study her decolletage and the exposed curve of her breasts thanks to Ruby’s predilection for low cut necklines.
Pulling up to the curb, she’d never been so thankful to get out of a moving vehicle, the pair tossing the driver a breezy ‘Happy New Year’ after Killian signed the chit.
Inside her apartment, she found herself once again pressed against the nearest wall, but this time with a lot less self restraint from both parties. His hungry lips tasted every exposed inch of skin as she clawed her fingers through his hair before yanking his shirt from his pants and sliding her palms up his back. He urged her hips apart and she felt the slit at the back of the skirt rip as she hiked her legs around him.
“Bed,” she demanded, tipping her head in the direction of her bedroom as they kissed their way across the living room.
After kicking open the door, Killian placed her back on the ground long enough for him to toss away his jacket and for them both to kick off their shoes. Then they were back, fused together, falling onto the bed as they pulled and tugged at each other’s clothes in a desperate search for the feel of bare skin.
The dress already ruined, she begged him, “Just tear it.”
With a guttural groan, he complied, foregoing the zip and yanking at the material until it gave way to the satisfying sound of threads splitting, leaving her in her simple underwear, as she concentrated on removing his shirt and fanning out her hands over his chest. His perfect chest, peppered with swathes of hair and just toned enough to say ‘hot’ rather than ‘gym obsessive’.
“You’re stunning,” he panted.
She palmed his hardness through his pants, earning another growl as her thighs clenched in anticipation of his generous size. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”
He yanked down the cups of her bra as she started to work on divesting him of his remaining clothes, suckling on a nipple as his hand worked the other into a firm peak, the sensation going right to her core where her body was practically begging her to take him inside.
“Shit,” she moaned as he took a second to help her with her task, before he was left gloriously nude and exposed before her - looking better than she could have imagined - so masculine and wanton with his erection jutting out proudly, demanding to be given attention. Bending forward, she reached out her tongue and ran it over his silky length, it jerked at the sensation, but before she could touch him he took hold of her wrist-
“You first,” he insisted and before she could protest he tugged down her panties, his lips once agains exploring her breasts as his fingers parted her folds and gathered the dampness that had already formed there. “Fuck Emma you’re so wet already. Such a delicious cunt.”
The unexpected language was surprisingly a huge turn on and she pulled his lips to her mouth-
“Waiting for you to fill me up, Jones.”
His fingers danced over her clit as he paused, inches from her mouth-
“So I’m Jones now, am I? Well I guess that makes you Swan.” Without ceremony, he pushed one thick finger into her quickly followed by another, her back arched from the bed until his lips muffled her moans. Inside her, his digits found places that had her letting out breathy little moans.
“You like that, Swan?” he asked, his eyes scanning her expression as her knees flexed and she pushed her heels into the mattress, trying to ground herself from the sensation of flying into the air.
“Yes,” she cried, her hands seeking something to also anchor themselves to him, finding his ass to be just as firm and round as it had appeared in his pants. She was now so slick that his hand was gliding silkily between her legs, harder and faster- until he fell back on his haunches, giving her a searing look, before his mouth joined his hands on the assault of her sex. His tongue flicked out to swirl around her clit and over her folds until she could no longer discern his movements in the high of sensation he was creating. Her body was folding in upon itself, the muscles of her gut and core tightening and twisting as they bended to his will, his free hand massaging her breasts and then she was spiraling out of existence into the heavenly bliss of release as the tension snapped and rippled from her in waves.
“You’re glorious,” he panted, suffocating her in an all-consuming kiss that tasted of her, pulling her back to reality and fueling her desire once again.
Reaching for his cock, she ran her hand over him, imagining how he would feel inside her while he rutted into her palm. She pressed her hand against his shoulder, trying to lay him on his back so she could return the favor.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, once again worried she was misreading the whole situation.
“Nothing, love,” he replied, still pistoning his hips as he laid a kiss to her forehead, “It’s just, if I can’t be inside you right now, I think I’m going to explode.”
Oh, she wasn’t going to argue with him-
“Top drawer of the nightstand,” she whispered, sitting up to watch him as he found a condom, palming her breasts as her whole body ached in expectation. It had been so long since she had gotten to this place with a guy, and even longer with someone who she could potentially care about-
It was right then, as he turned back to her, his face deliciously wrecked, that she recognized that was just it- there was something about him, something as still intangible in addition to his more obvious assets, an attraction brewing that was more than just superficial.
She liked Killian Jones. Really. Truly.
Stunned, she let craving for him roll over her again as he crawled back across the bed to her, caging her body in with his, a look of pure want on his face.
“Swan,” he whispered, with a crooked smile.
“Jones,” she replied, widening her legs to accommodate him, wrapping her legs around his waist until she could feel the weight of him pressing against her entrance.
He sank into her heat, every solid inch more perfect than the last, pausing once he had bottomed out until she pressed her heels into his ass, urging him into a sensual rhythm.
His soft grunts and moans had her hot and bothered, writhing against him, seeking out further friction as he alternated between hard, quick thrusts and softer, rocking motions. Normally, Emma would be vocal with what she wanted in bed, but he just seemed to know instinctively how to make her body hum. She gave as good as she got, encouraging him with muttered ‘yeses’ and ‘harders’, getting lost in the moment - not trying to draw it out. Because she knew this could never be a one time thing. Instead, she chased her peak, wanting him to join her, grinding against him, foregoing technique for desperate motions that had one single purpose-
It worked. In a frenzy of movement, she found herself falling once more, this time her body was gripping his, dragging him with her into dizzying, euphoric release.
To the heavy beat of heaving hearts, he collapsed beside her.
Minutes later, his fingers tangled in her hair as she lay against his chest, truth be told she was a little too warm, but had no desire to move as she soaked in the post-coital bliss. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders and he ran his hand over the naked skin within his reach.
“Can I ask you a question?” she whispered.
“Of course,” he said, punctuating his reply with a kiss to her forehead. “Anything.”
“Why me? I mean, you could have your pick of anyone, Jones.”
“You’re beautiful,” he answered, without skipping a beat.
“Please…” she clucked, rolling her eyes.
“And, well, it was really a choice between you and the security guard tonight,” he joked.
“Not funny,” she deadpanned, though tossing him a grin that showed she knew he was joking.
“Okay,” he nodded, “Well, when we first met I could see the guarded look in your eyes. I recognized it. Not many wear it so openly, but you, sweetheart, are an open book.”
Her instinct was to rebuff that statement, but she knew it was true. “I’ve been… hurt.” she admitted, “More than once.”
“Me too,” he nodded
“So pain is attractive to you?”
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” He shook his head, “Not exactly, love. I guess I saw a kindred spirit in you? And though you may have tried to avoid me, you piqued my interest that day. I sought you out, tried to learn a little about you. Ms. Lucas is surprisingly chatty when she brings up the daily figures.”
“I may have asked a bit about you too.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes really, just don’t let that go to your head!”
He gave her a wicked grin in response. She sighed. That cheeky smile of his was probably going to be her downfall.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why did you have to be one of the good ones?”
“The good ones?” he asked, his brow creasing in confusion.
“You know… I’m pretty good at telling when someone is being dishonest.”
“Oh, for all you know, I’m just some dashing rapscallion, love.”
“You wish buddy.”
The pair fell silent for a moment.
“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, strangely nervously considering their current situation.
In reply, she rolled onto her front, running one hand through his hair, her eyes focusing on his mouth, until she kissed him once more.
“Mmmm,” he moaned, “I could get used to that.”
She dropped her forehead to his, her fingers drawing circles against his scalp as the reality of what this all could mean began to dawn on her.
“Killian, we work together…”
“We work for the same company, love, entirely different departments.”
“But still…” she trailed off, searching again for an out clause-
“Love, if you feel this was a mistake-”
“No,” she cried, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m just- Can we take this slow?”
The smile he gave her was a one she hadn’t seen - wide and bright, full of hope - “As you wish, my lovely Swan.”
She kissed him again, rousing them both to round number two.
***
31st December 2017
Emma Swan, 2017
32 years old
Cohabitating with a gorgeous man who loves her (and she loves him)
Still have kickass view of Boston Harbor but this time sharing her bed (and life) with aforementioned gorgeous (and amazing) guy.
Still owner of VW Bug older than she is, but better able to afford mechanic costs since…
Now owner of her very own bail bonds business.
Very, very, sickening happy, thank you very much!,
Whew! Here it is finally, @xhookswenchx, the last installment of your GFSS gift fic! I'm sorry this chapter took me so long to get to you. Real life has been kind of crazy this week, and I really appreciate your patience! I hope you've enjoyed this even half as much as I've enjoyed creating it for you. Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting, as always!
Find it on AO3. Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.
Summary: When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming. Canon Divergent. Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut. Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)
Christmas morning, Killian is the first to wake, pausing for a handful of golden minutes to savor the sensation of being ensconced in the warm world beneath their blanket, Emma in his arms and the baby beneath his stump. He focuses on syncing his breaths with Emma’s, which are telegraphed by the subtle, rhythmic movement of her shoulders and the gentle press of her back to his chest. They’ve had many mornings like this, but he never tires of them, of the serenity and the immeasurable comfort of being able to hold what matters most to him next to his heart uninterrupted.
He chuffs ruefully as his thoughts are interrupted by a little tap from the baby. He grins and pulls his girls a little closer, and Emma sighs deeply in response.
“’Morning,” she murmurs, her voice gravelly with sleep.
Killian gives her a little squeeze. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Mm. S’alright.” He can hear her smile. “What time is it?”
He cranes his head upward to glimpse the clock on her nightstand. “Nearly eight,” he grunts.
Emma manages a deep yawn. “‘Kay.” She hums reluctantly. “We should probably get up soon if we want brunch ready by the time people start showing up.”
He buries his nose in her hair and breathes deep. “Aye. Pancakes or french toast?”
She snorts. “Like I’ll ever be able to eat french toast in front of my dad again.”**
Killian laughs and nuzzles the back of her neck playfully. “Very well. Pancakes it is then.”
The sun is shining radiantly through the kitchen window when they make it downstairs, the whole world outside their home seeming to glow a little between the morning light and the reflective blanket of white snow on the ground. Emma decides to set the hearth crackling merrily for ambiance and turn her Christmas music on while Killian gets the coffee going. Working side by side, they succeed in prepping a large breakfast casserole and have started in on their second cup of coffee apiece by the time Henry comes thundering down the stairs in his sleep clothes, his face bright.
“Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Kid,” Emma calls, shooting him a broad smile over her shoulder.
Killian salutes with his coffee mug. “Merry Christmas, Henry.”
The boy comes to investigate the food situation. “When do we eat?”
Emma chuckles and slides the casserole into the oven. “Really? Your first Christmas, and you’re still more interested in food than presents?”
Henry shrugs, reaching into a cabinet for a glass. “Stomach wants what the stomach wants, Mom,” he sighs cheerfully.
“Uh-huh.” She shakes her head, her mouth curled into a grin as she rolls her eyes and sets an egg timer ticking softly. “Well, grab a banana and tell your stomach we eat when everyone gets here in thirty.” She holds the timer up for emphasis before setting it down on the counter.
Henry pours himself some juice and chuckles, setting the carton down just in time to catch the banana Killian tosses him against his chest. “Fine. Presents then,” he agrees.
They gather around the tree, taking Emma’s lead as she settles herself cross-legged on the floor. The exchange and opening of presents doesn’t take too long given the small size of their family, but, having never really experienced mass gift-giving like this before, Killian soaks up every moment with as much, if not more enthusiasm than Henry. His face goes slack with delight when he sees the cordless sander Henry got him to help refinish and replace boards aboard the Jolly, but it’s the boy’s look of gratification at having made him happy that really makes Killian’s heart swell.
When he unwraps Emma’s gift, shaking the colorful paper loose from the tip of his hook, Killian cocks his head and studies the pictures on the side of the heavy, glossy cardboard box with a blank smile. “What is it?”
Emma grins and rotates the box so the front faces him. “It’s a portable telescope,” she explains, tapping a finger on the image of a happy-looking father and his daughter using what is presumably the device in question to look at the night sky. “We can use it to do some real stargazing out on the Jolly next summer.”
An enormous smile spreads across Killian’s face, and he curls his fingers around her chin and pulls her in for a quick kiss. “I’d like nothing better, Swan.”
Henry gets a couple of video games he’s been coveting and some of his favorite movies in DVD disc sets. He holds up the one small package that remains and gives it an experimental shake. “What’s this?” He makes short work of the wrapping and pulls the gleaming silver object out of its decorative wood case, its chain dangling to one side.
“It’s a bosun’s whistle,” Killian says. “You run the Jolly’s decks for me now, lad, and I know we don’t have much of a crew at present, but it’s traditional for every bosun to have a command whistle such as this.”
“Yes, Sir.” Henry blinks in awe and runs his thumb several times across the words that are cleanly engraved in the metal:
Henry D. Mills
The Jolly Roger
He beams proudly. “Thanks.”
Emma opens her gift last, one large box from both himself and Henry, and nervousness begins to swirl in the pit of Killian’s stomach like a tempest as she digs into it and pulls items forth one by one. There’s her favorite scented bubble bath and lotion, more pairs of wooly socks, a new beanie, a gift certificate for the Three Bears Spa, and Henry’s homemade babysitting IOUs. She responds to each of these with predictable pleasure, but it’s when she spies the piece of paper at the bottom of the box and a curious wrinkle appears on her brow that Killian’s breath stalls in his chest.
“What’s this?” she asks, reaching in and pulling out the drawing. It’s a detailed sketch of a swan curving her neck around to rest her head upon the large feathers of a downward outstretched wing. A scroll in her beak reads “Emma.”
Killian clears his throat. “Um, if you like it, love, it’s going to be my new tattoo,” he explains shyly, scratching behind his ear. He gestures with his hook at the length of his right arm from just above his existing ink up to his shoulder.
She looks up at him, staring like a stunned doe, her eyebrows peaking in the middle of her forehead. “You… you want to get a new tattoo?”
“If you don’t object,” he says, nodding and smiling softly. “It’s just… So much of my life has changed. I have you and Henry and the baby and all of this now,” he explains, waving his hand at their home, “And this,” he taps his current tattoo with his hook, “this is part of my past, but it doesn’t reflect the man I am anymore.” He meets her shining gaze. “Or what gives me strength.”
His heart leaps at the way Emma’s eyes well up, relief and joy surging within him when she flings herself into his arms. Killian chuckles richly as they sway, stroking her hair while she sniffles into his shoulder. “Is that a yes then?” he asks.
She pulls back, arms still encircling his neck, and nods, flushed and tear-stained and slightly rumpled and unspeakably gorgeous.
“This is pretty cool,” Henry comments, examining the paper. “Hey Mom, can I get a tattoo?”
Emma looks at her son, a smirk peeking through her watery smile. “I’m not the only mom you have to ask, you know,” she points out.
Henry’s face falls.
“Tell you what, lad,” Killian offers, grinning and smoothing his hand down Emma’s back as she wriggles around to sit side-by-side with him, “When you and your True Love have lost and found each other half a dozen times like everyone else in your family, perhaps your mothers will be more understanding.”
Henry rolls his eyes and huffs wryly. “Right.”
Emma’s parents arrive with Neal shortly thereafter, Regina on their heels. Per what has become their usual arrangement, David takes over the kitchen as head pancake chef, and Killian, Emma, and then Henry each take the opportunity to run upstairs for a succession of quick showers before everyone sits down to brunch. Cutlery clinks against plates, dishes are passed back and forth, and the conversation meanders between pleasant murmurs and bubbly laughter.
Everyone is admiring Henry’s new whistle when David’s and Emma’s phones suddenly ring simultaneously at a little after eleven. Six pairs of eyes swap knowing, wary looks while father and daughter check their screens.
“Leroy,” Emma breathes, glancing at David.
“Granny.”
They jump up and retreat to opposite corners of the kitchen like boxers on a break while Killian and the others try to listen in on both conversations.
“Leroy, slow down,” Emma urges, holding her phone an inch away from her ear and wincing, fingers bracing her temple with exasperation, the dwarf’s indistinguishable but panicked bellows audible to everyone in the room through the tiny phone speaker.
In the other corner, David frowns, turning away from them, phone over one ear and his free hand covering the other. “Did you just say the dogs are all barking?”
Regina lifts an eyebrow and sighs heavily, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Well, the peace was nice while it lasted,” she comments glibly.
Snow nods, finishing her drink.
David hangs up first and turns back toward them, resting his hands on the back of his chair, his features perturbed. “Granny says something seems to be bothering all the dogs in town. She can hear them barking everywhere.”
“Leroy and the other dwarves swear the ground is shaking down near the harbor,” Emma adds grimly, smoothing a hand over her belly.
“You guys go,” Snow tells them, looking around. “I’ll clean up here and catch up with you after I take Neal down to the fairies.” She smiles as David leans down and deposits a quick kiss on her lips and the car keys in her hand.
Everyone is in motion then. Killian hands Emma her coat and hat before reaching for his own, David zips up, and Henry winds his scarf hastily around his neck. Regina tugs on her leather gloves and is the first to head out the door, followed by David and Henry. Killian and Emma bring up the rear, his brace at the small of her back and his hand snatching up his sheathed sword and sword belt from the umbrella stand by the door.
They emerge into the cold December day, their steps echoing softly over the porch floorboards.
“Sorry to interrupt Christmas, Kid,” Emma says apologetically.
Henry glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “It’s okay ,” he puffs cheerfully, pausing and turning toward her. “Christmas is a time for family traditions, and this is kinda ours.”
Emma's face lights with pleasant surprise at his words, and she shares an amused look with Killian, who smirks devilishly as he finishes securing his belt.
“He’s right, Swan,” he says. “What’s Christmas in Storybrooke without a little adventure?”
“Hey,” Regina yells at them from where she stands down below in the yard with David. “You three coming?”
Emma glances between Killian and Henry and grins. “Yeah,” she calls back resolutely, wrapping her fingers around the base of Killian’s hook. His smile widens when she looks up at him with that familiar, daring glint in her green eyes, heaving a deep breath and nodding briskly. “Let’s go.”
Hey @pocket-anon!!! Now I know it’s ridiculously late, but here’s part 1 of your GF christmas gift. I hope you like them and I hope you had a wonderful holiday! xx
Part 2 of your gift is HERE
And EVERYONE PLEASE GO CHECK OUT THESE TWO WONDERFUL STORIES WRITTEN BY THE FABULOUS LADY!!
Here we are at Day 6, @xhookswenchx! This is actually the vignette that I first wrote for you more than a month ago when I initially started spit-balling ideas for your Secret Santa gift, and it’s my personal favorite of the set and kind of the thing around which everything else evolved. If you’ve read any of my other work, you may have noticed know how much I love writing the quiet moments, and that’s exactly what this is. I really hope you enjoy it. I’ll try to have a little something to wrap up this fic for you by tomorrow!
Find it on AO3. Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.
Summary: When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming. Canon Divergent. Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut. Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)
Requested tags: @optomisticgirl, @deathbycaptainswan. Want to be tagged on updates? Let me know!
Chapter 6: Tidings of Great Joy
The call of her bladder rouses Emma from a deep slumber, and she pries her eyes open with mild irritation, staring forward into the dark of the bedroom and heaving a mental sigh. Again? She pushes back the covers with one arm and pauses when she realizes that she’s alone in bed. Sitting up, she swivels her head to throw a quizzical look back at Killian’s undisturbed pillow before pushing herself to her feet. Toilet first.
The floor is cold against her skin, first the cool wood of the bedroom, then the frigid tile in the bathroom, but she bears it as she shuffles along, too sleepy to bother with socks. Emma huffs and pats her belly. Five more months of this (and much more) to go. She sighs, but reminds herself that she’s survived a pregnancy before under far less favorable circumstances. For that matter, she’s literally been to Hell and back. She’s got this.
When she finishes in the bathroom, she throws a robe over her flannel pajamas and pads downstairs. She’d retired shortly after getting home from Christmas dinner at her parents’ and left Killian by the fire reading Charles Dickens (part of what Henry refers to as his Christmas Crash Course). But that was several hours ago, and Killian has usually come to bed by this time of night. She wonders if he’s fallen asleep mid-sentence on the sofa again.
The ground floor of their house is illuminated by the flicker of the fire that still burns in the hearth and by the almost overwhelming glow of the legion of white Christmas lights Killian and Henry have succeeded in draping on every square inch of the handsome tree near the front window.
“Guys, I’m serious. If you put any more lights on that thing, astronauts will be able to see it from space.”
“Sorry, love, who will be able to see it from where?”
“…Zeus. Zeus will be able to see it from Olympus.”
“I’m fairly certain Zeus can see everything anyway, Swan.”
The stair creaks beneath her feet, and when she reaches the bottom and turns the corner, she sees Killian still sitting on the sofa where she left him, but his head and shoulders are craned around to look at her.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, looking concerned.
She gives a little smile. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” she murmurs, coming around the side of the sofa to settle herself next to him. She perches her feet on the edge of the coffee table. “I had to go the bathroom.”
“Ah.” He nods knowingly, a tiny grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His smile widens further as Emma sighs blissfully and wiggles her toes a little, enjoying the way the warmth of the fire licks at them. “Are your feet cold, love?”
“Better now,” she says, shifting down in her seat and moving to lean up against him.
“Hold that thought,” he tells her, gently pulling away and heaving himself off the sofa. Emma’s eyebrows pinch upward as he hurries up the stairs. A minute later he returns with a pair of her favorite gray woolen socks in his hand.
Her expression turns dopey as he sits on the edge of the sofa cushion and drops one sock on his lap, reaching forward with the other. Part of her wants to sit up and insist she can put on her own socks (she’s not exactly big yet), but she remains rooted in place, fascinated and touched as she watches him work. He loops the cuff of the sock around her big toe and gently pulls so that the cuff opens up wide enough to allow him to finesse it over the rest of her toes and onto her foot. He hums tunelessly as he works, and she grins. She’s seen him put his own socks on like this countless times, but seeing him do it for her, knowing how content he is to pamper her in little ways like this, makes her heart feel fit to burst. He tugs here and there at the tight knit until the sock is in place and then proceeds to help her with its mate. “There we are,” he declares with satisfaction, sitting back and throwing his left arm around her shoulders.
Killian Jones, the fearsome Captain Hook, vanquisher of sea monsters and Underworld denizens and cold toes. “Thank you.” She chuckles and burrows deep into his side, resting her head on his shoulder.
He turns his head, inhaling the scent of her hair, and plants a kiss on her head. “Of course.”
Emma’s eyes are half-lidded and dreamy as she stares into the dancing flames. “So why are you still awake? Staying up for Santa?” she teases.
She can hear the smile in his voice. “Do you suppose I should? He’s set to invade our home, after all,” Killian muses. “Perhaps I should fetch my cutlass. Inspire him to use the front door like a normal person.”
Laughter bubbles up in her chest at the idea of coming downstairs in the morning to find Killian has captured Santa Claus. The mental image of her husband grimly standing guard with his sword while the man in the red suit sits properly bound and gagged in an armchair is almost too much. “Pretty sure that gets you on the naughty list,” she comments when she catches her breath.
Killian waggles his eyebrows. “So does what we did to get you pregnant, Swan,” he murmurs into her ear. “I don’t recall you complaining.”
She can feel him smile against her as she flushes to the roots of her hair, a myriad of vivid memories flooding back and setting her skin tingling. She swats his arm half-heartedly but doesn’t try to hide her exhilarated smile. He rumbles low in his chest, and she turns her head to indulge him in a slow, sultry kiss. “Well, it was pretty fun,” she mutters against his mouth, her teeth dragging across his lower lip, her lashes dusky against her cheeks.
He pulls back and arches an eyebrow. “‘Pretty fun’?” he repeats with mock indignance. “May I remind you that you seriously started considering using silencing magic after that time we—”
She gives a throaty giggle and cuts him off by yanking his shirt collar forward until his lips are pressed against hers. Her tongue grazes his in invitation, and Killian answers without hesitation, plunging forth and kissing her hot and deep in the way they both know disorients her and makes her toes curl inside her socks. His lips slant over hers aggressively, and he steals her breath, reaching up to cup her face with his hand and drag his thumb across her cheek, hunger and defiance and unending devotion in the way he kisses. A tiny mewl escapes her, and shivers run down her spine when he responds with a gratified hum, clearly pleased at having successfully reminded her of all the ways he has to make her want.
“Fine,” she acquiesces breathlessly when they surface for air. “Um… Miraculous? Phenomenal?”
Killian grunts. “That’s more like it.”
Emma laughs quietly at the smug grin on his face and snuggles up against him once again. Her eyes fall to her stomach suddenly, and she smirks. “Oops. We might have woken someone up.”
“Oh?” His face lights eagerly. “You can feel her?”
Emma bites her lip at her little slip-up. Their baby started kicking only a few days ago, but she’d been hoping to reveal it to him Christmas morning as an extra gift. One look at his excited expression now, though, and all thoughts of waiting any longer are easily forgotten. She nods almost shyly and reaches for his hand, settling it on her belly and watching his face expectantly. They wait for a long moment, all but holding their breath, until the baby abruptly kicks again.
An awed smile blooms on Killian’s face, and he glances up at her with wonder. “There. That’s… that’s her?”
Emma folds her lips, blinking rapidly and nodding.
He looks back down at her belly and chuckles low when the baby issues another kick. “Hello, my love,” he croons, his voice sounding thick. “Did your mum and I wake you?”
They lapse into contented quiet while Killian continues to feel the baby move, slowly gliding his hand back and forth over Emma’s midsection in a loving caress. It makes her want to cry sometimes when he’s like this – so exquisitely, almost impossibly gentle – the man who was so angry for so long, who was one of the most feared pirates to ride the waves, who nearly destroyed all the Dark Ones forever, and who withstood torture at the hands of a god and still thumbed his nose at him. The fact that he can be so bold and unbreakable one moment and so soft and affectionate and heart-breakingly grateful the next – the range of this man, the depth of him, just takes her breath away.
“I was thinking about you, you know.” His quiet confession breaks the silence. “Just now before you and your mum came down. Did you know? It’s Christmas.” A delicate smile curves his lips, and he glances up at the narrow mantle from which hang three full-sized stockings labeled “Killian”, “Emma”, and “Henry” and a much smaller knitted stocking shaped like a baby bootie, courtesy of Granny. “It’s my first Christmas,” he continues thoughtfully, “which is fitting, because your mum and Henry tell me part of celebrating Christmas is spending time with your family, and this…” he intertwines his fingers with Emma’s, grinning softly at the now-familiar click of his ring against hers, “this is the first winter in a very, very long time that I can really say that I have one.”
Emma sniffles, and he catches her eye and gives her a watery smile.
“I’ve also read that that this holiday celebrates the birth of a child,” he says, his voice turning even heavier with emotion, “a baby that, I gather, gave a lot of the world hope, and that…” he pauses, “that seems fitting too.”
A giant tear rolls down Emma’s face, and she’s a hair’s width from blubbering as she takes in the redness lining his eyes and the tender, emotional look his face. He knows she’s full of hormones right now, and yet here he is, saying these perfect words to their unborn child on Christmas Eve, and if she didn’t love him with every fiber of her being she’d punch him so hard right now for making her cry. Jerk.
Killian stops talking, as though he knows she’s barely keeping it together (or perhaps because he is too). He drags his ringed thumb back and forth along the side of her pinky absently, falling back into unspoken thoughts, his gaze fixed on their hands while the firelight frolics with the shadows around them.
They both smile when they feel another kick, and Emma nuzzles his neck with her forehead. “We love you, you know,” she whispers to him.
He takes a ragged breath. “Aye, I know.”
Emma squeezes his hand. “Come to bed?”
He turns his head and places another kiss in her hair. “As you wish.”
He climbs to his feet slowly, adjusting his grip on her hand to help her up, and they remain linked as she leads him out of the living room and back up the stairs, extinguishing the fire with the flick of her wrist.
She settles herself back between the bedsheets, leaving the socks on, while he quickly readies himself for sleep. Minutes later, he switches off the lights and slides beneath the thick blanket, scooting over the mattress toward her, his stump gliding across her hip to rest on the swell of her stomach and his chest pressing to her shoulder blades. Emma sighs happily as he touches his lips to the back of her neck.
“Good night, my loves,” he mutters into her skin.
Emma smiles in the dark, her hand finding his stump and squeezing it affectionately. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”
Thanks for reading! Ready for more? Click here for the next chapter!
Day 4 of @xhookswenchx's Gutter Flower Secret Santa gift fic! I couldn't do a Gutter Flower gift and not have it include some smut. Not to mention the fact that I haven't written anything really spicy since Scar Tissue, and I needed to stretch those muscles, so to speak. LOL. Hope you enjoy. As I have been all week, I'll do my best to get Chapter 5 out tomorrow, but I'm a little behind on that one and work-related things are calling. Thanks so much to everyone for reading and commenting/tagging as always!
Find it on AO3. Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.
Summary: When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming. Canon Divergent. Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut. Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)
Requested tags: @optomisticgirl, @deathbycaptainswan. Want to be tagged on updates? Let me know!
Chapter 4: The Cookie Pirate
Killian finds Emma in the kitchen on her Friday afternoon off, more upbeat songs about Christmas playing and the heady smell of baked treats in the air. Her back is turned to him as she works at the kitchen counter, ponytail swaying and bobbing with a life of its own as she gently rocks in time to the beat. She peeks at him out of the corner of her eye, a smile curving her mouth. “Hey.”
“Hello, love.” He grins.
As she rotates slightly, his eyes fall to the still-subtle curve of her belly, and his face blooms into an involuntary smile as he approaches, absently removing his hook and setting it on the table with the hollow thunk of metal on wood. “Something smells bloody brilliant.” He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over the nearest chair before clicking his hook back into place and wandering to her side.
“Christmas cookies,” she hums, thick lashes fluttering as his lips find the apple of her cheek. “For the dinner at my parents’ tomorrow.” Emma gestures at a baking sheet full of star-shaped cookies on the counter in front of him, half of which are neatly covered in white icing. She picks up an unadorned cookie and draws his attention to the small metal spatula she wields in her other hand, dipping it into a large bowl of icing and waffling it carefully across the cookie’s surface in order to try to cover every square inch.
Her brow wrinkles indignantly as Killian lifts an unfrosted cookie from the sheet and takes a bite. “Hey!”
He grins, unrepentant, and gives a happy hum as he swallows the chewy morsel. “Delicious.”
Emma rolls her eyes and swipes her spatula through the bowl of icing again. “If you’re going to pirate my cookies, at least try them with icing the way nature intended,” she says, reaching across. He obliges her by holding what remains of his cookie still so she can smear the creamy confection all over the top, catching the tips of his fingers in the process, and she gestures resignedly when she finishes. “As you were.”
Blue eyes twinkling, he pops the rest of the cookie in his mouth in one go, cheeks bulging as he chews.
She chuckles at his ridiculousness. “Better?” She arches an eyebrow.
Killian nods emphatically, savoring the extra sweetness before he swallows. “Bloody brilliant,” he says with a wink. He reaches out and wraps his left arm around her hip to turn her toward him. “My compliments to the chef.”
Emma smiles as he closes the distance between them, inhaling deeply when his lips find hers. He grins. She tastes like peppermint-laced heaven. He leisurely explores her mouth, and she mewls in that way that tells him she wants this to go past innocent kiss territory, the sound going straight to his groin. Killian growls in response. One amazing, unanticipated effect of Emma’s pregnancy, especially these last few weeks, has been a frankly ravenous desire for him at pretty much all times of day, and bloody hell, has he been happy – ecstatic, really – to accommodate her when she’s accosted him in the shower or gotten amorous on the sofa or even – and especially – that day he was doing maintenance on the Jolly and she poofed over during her lunch hour in order to have him three times in his old quarters before straightening herself up, kissing his awestruck face, and poofing back to the Sheriff’s station.
He cups the side of her neck and kisses her deeper, feeling her heart rate quickening as he plunders her mouth, and she moans, throwing her arms around his neck and sinking her fingers into his hair. “Wanna take this upstairs?” she breathes in between kisses, giggling as he hums his affirmative into her mouth. He means to sweep her into his arms and haul her away, but even with his eyes closed he can sense the swirl of magical white smoke that immediately engulfs them, and a quick peek a moment later confirms that she’s transported them to their bedroom. He chuckles. Patience has never been his Emma’s strong suit, especially not lately. Not that he’s complaining.
They break apart for moment to yank her baggy red sweater up over her head, and a flash of white catches his eye. Killian gives a little laugh when he realizes that his fingers have trailed a few sugary smears down side of her neck. He draws her close and gently runs his thumb along the angle of her jaw. “I seem to have made a bit of a mess here with the icing, love,” he says, ducking his head down with a devilish smile, “Allow me.”
He plies her flesh with his mouth, attacking just above her collarbone and laving his way up toward her ear, her skin a mixture of sweet icing and salty sweat. Breathy gasps escape her, her fingers smoothing over his shoulders and lightly clawing at the skin between his shoulder blades, and she palpably shivers when he pauses a moment to suck on her pulse.
Her hands fly unseeing to release the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt before undoing his belt with frightening efficiency, and she hums with satisfaction. They joked once about how much easier it would be for her to just magic their clothes off, but that was when she’d admitted that she actually enjoys this part sometimes – the part where she gets to pull apart the buttons and buckles that hold him together and peel back the layers, exposing him in a way that is for her eyes only. Her possessiveness thrills him endlessly; he relishes belonging to her, relishes being the lucky fool that she, the most glorious creature under the sun, chose to be her partner.
He releases her long enough to unfasten his brace and hang it, hook attached, on the looped leather strap he keeps tied to one bedpost just before she pounces again, sealing her lips over his and yanking his shirt tails free in order to shove the open button-down and waistcoat off his shoulders. Her fingers rake down his chest, and her tongue curls around his aggressively as she allows him to back her up toward the bed, virtually purring when he snakes his left arm tightly around her middle and draws her flush with him so she can feel the firmness of him pressed right up against her center.
Killian lowers her to perch on the edge of the mattress, and she hastily slips her nimble fingers beneath his waistband and tugs both his pants and boxer briefs off in one downward motion. Before he knows it, he’s in her hand, her lips teasing his tip, and his head falls backward with a groan as she proceeds to have her way with him. Oh, bloody hell.
If her mouth had been heaven before, he has no words for it now, for the way she uses it to surround him with sinfully wet heat and a dancing tongue that swirls and strokes him until he’s all but gone mad with want. He watches her through heavy-lidded eyes, desperation on his features, and feels himself simultaneously tensing and unraveling at the sight of at her long closed lashes and her hollowed cheeks and the way his fingers sink into her golden hair along the back of her head near her ponytail, and when he gulps her name like a prayer, she smirks and hums delectably and he goes rocketing over the edge with a suppressed roar.
He’s vaguely aware of her sucking him clean and chuckling as she releases him. She peels off her panties and leggings and crawls backward on the bed, and it’s all he can do not to topple over, bracing himself on the mattress with his hand while he finishes kicking off his socks and shoes and stumbles, knock-kneed, out of the pants bunched around his calves. Emma giggles as she watches, and he attempts a chiding smile as he joins her near their headboard.
“It’s bad form, love, laughing at a man you’ve just incapacitated like that.”
She arches an eyebrow smugly. “And here I thought you’d consider what I just did good form.”
He rumbles with satisfaction, angling his body and lowering himself down on his side in order to hover over her without burdening her under his weight. “Oh that part was certainly good form,” he smirks, seizing her lips once again. “Great form,” he mutters. “Spectacular form.”
Emma chuckles quietly into his mouth, and he cradles her face, his thumb drifting across the swell of her dimpled cheek. Her laughter gives way to a rapturous sigh when his hand drifts down her throat to cup her breast, delicately tweaking her nipple through her black lace bra until it stiffens. His fingers wander further south then, skimming across the gentle rise of her once-flat stomach toward her mound and plunging beneath the lacey edge of her panties.
She suddenly snorts and begins to laugh again, and he pulls back reflexively, a curious grin on his face. “Swan?”
Emma continues to giggle, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Sorry,” she manages. “I just…” She chortles. “You’re about to pirate my cookies.” She erupts into full-fledged laughter that makes her shoulders shake.
Killian’s face splits into a wide smile, and he snickers, his complexion going red. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” he asks, an amused glint in his eye.
She quiets as he drifts his calloused fingertips lightly down her belly again, gooseflesh rising in their wake, and he hums with approval when they seek her core and he finds her slick and ready. The little gasp his touch elicits is music to his ears, and Killian watches her expression transform to one of pure bliss as he strokes her deftly.
Emma sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes falling closed as she focuses on her pleasure, her back arching sinuously. He works on her a while more before breaking away to sear a path of kisses down her body, ridding her of her underwear and settling his shoulders between her thighs. He flashes her a daring smile before he bows his head and tastes her, savoring the primitive moan that rips from her throat.
She pants out a quiet curse, her brow furrowed, and one of her hands slides into his hair and urges him on with a gentle tug. Killian feels himself growing hard again at this little show of aggression. They both know what she likes, but he never tires of her asking for, of her demanding what she needs from him. Emma’s cries grow louder and more strident as he continues to worship her insistently with his lips and tongue, her thighs beginning to twitch as the pressure builds and she crests higher. “Please…”
She gives a ragged shudder, and he takes his cue to insert two fingers into her, and when she whines his name, he hums acknowledgment, pistoning deep inside her past his ring and finally shattering her control with a curl of his fingers. Emma falls apart around him, collapsing back on the bed, her breath coming in stuttering gasps, and he watches her ecstasy with boundless fascination as he slows his movements and helps her ride it out as long, or perhaps a little longer, than she can bear.
Her chest is heaving when he withdraws at last, and he smirks like a cad, crawling back up her side to kiss her soundly and let her taste herself on his lips. “So, darling, how do you feel about cookie piracy now?” he says smugly, brushing his nose against hers.
Emma laughs and takes long moment to catch her breath before she abruptly rolls, shoving him on is back and climbing aboard. She straightens and pulls what’s left of her disheveled ponytail loose, looking like a wanton angel as she shakes her hair free and finger-combs it away from her face. Her bra is next to go, and Killian gazes up at her raptly. Nowhere is he happier than this, at her complete mercy, and his hand and stump settle on her hips as she lowers herself down on him with excruciating slowness and another inviting shudder. Killian groans at the sensation of being enveloped by her yet again, and she answers with a wicked smile, planting her hands on his chest and rolling her hips deliciously in order to pull a second groan from him.
“Yo ho ho.”
Thanks for reading! Ready for more? Click here for the next chapter!
Well, @xhookswenchx, Day 5 is coming to you a tad late, but here it is, 1.6k of pure exhaustion-driven silliness. Seriously. There is really no substance to this whatsoever. But then, such can be said for many of the treats we consume during the holidays. :) Apologies for any typos. Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.
Find it on AO3. Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.
Summary: When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming. Canon Divergent. Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut. Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)
Requested tags: @optomisticgirl, @deathbycaptainswan. Want to be tagged on updates? Let me know!
Chapter 5: On Being Awesome at Christmas
“Merry Christmas Eve!”
Emma gapes and then laughs when her father opens the door to the loft wearing a Santa hat and a cheerful grin. “Very nice, Dad.”
He beams and steps back to let her, Killian, and Henry in. “Your mom thought it would be fun,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen.
Emma looks to see her mother standing at the sink in a pretty silvery cardigan with reindeer antlers perched adorably in her hair. Snow cocks her head playfully, her expression sunny. “Just getting into the spirit,” she tells them. “You weren’t kidding when you said Christmas was a big deal. The amount of neat Christmas-themed stuff we found on the internet is insane.”
“Yeeeah, well, it’s pretty big business,” Emma chuckles, handing David her cookie platter before Killian relieves her of her long wool coat. Her pregnant nose immediately picks up on the savory aromas wafting through the air. “Smells great.”
“Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, stuffing, and cranberry sauce as requested,” Snow announces, reading off a hand-written list that was sitting on the counter near her.
Henry, still in his coat and with a wolfish grin on his face, is already standing by the stovetop with his head almost directly over the pan of gravy that simmers merrily there. “Awesome.”
Emma looks impressed. “Wow, you really went all out.”
Her mother shrugs. “Hey, we promised to help give you guys a real Christmas, and we may not be Granny, but your father and I know our way around a kitchen.”
“Well, we brought Christmas cookies and pecan pie, since we know how you feel about apple,” Henry says proudly, setting his foil-wrapped dish to one side on the counter.
Snow arches an eyebrow at him. “A whole pie or half a pie?” she asks teasingly.
He gives a harassed sigh and rolls his eyes. “Come on, that was three months ago.”
“Just checking.”
Emma sends Henry back down to the Bug to get the gifts they brought for her parents and Neal, and she busies herself with helping Snow in the kitchen while David and Killian attempt to keep her energetic little brother in check while he chases his favorite rubber ball around the loft.
“What time is Regina coming?” Emma asks.
Snow glances at the clock. “She should be here any minute.”
Emma fixes her mother with a questioning sidelong look while finishing the mashed potatoes with a generous splash of heavy cream. “How does she feel about this whole Christmas thing?”
Snow pours the gravy through a strainer and smiles patiently. “Well, you know Regina. She’ll join in with the right encouragement, but she’s rarely the one to lead the celebration.”
“No, I meant since she’s the one who kind of… stole Christmas. Before.”
Her mother gives a little laugh. “You know she doesn’t actually have anything against Christmas, right? She’s just like the rest of us – it’s new to her,” she points out, pushing the last bits of gravy around the bottom of the strainer. “I mean, clearly she understands it's supposed to be fun, or else she wouldn't have withheld it from us and then given it back to Henry later. She gets it. I don’t expect her to show up wearing bells, but I’m sure she’s as open to enjoying it as we are.”
Emma grins wryly. “Well, if she isn’t, we can always spike her eggnog.”
Snow laughs. “What?”
“Eggnog. It’s a drink.” Emma tilts her head thoughtfully and goes to investigate the contents of the refrigerator.
“Is that like grog?”
“Is what like grog?” Killian asks interestedly, coming over to fish Neal’s ball out of the corner. He rolls it back across the floor toward the living room where Neal and David are now distracted watching Henry tuck presents beneath the Christmas tree.
Emma rolls her eyes. “Mention grog and a pirate appears,” she says, smirking at him affectionately.
He shrugs amiably and props his elbow up on the breakfast bar. “I am what I am, Swan. Now, what about grog?”
“Not grog. Nog. Eggnog,” Emma chuckles, pulling a jug of whole milk out of the refrigerator and setting it next to the cream before reaching for the eggs. “It’s something people drink at Christmas. It’s egg, sugar, milk, cream, and a little nutmeg. I’ll show you. You can spike it with rum or bourbon or whatever, especially at Christmas parties where the guests are unsuspecting. Makes for interesting stories.”
“A Christmas tradition involving rum, and I wasn’t told until now?” Killian tsks and angles his head at her reproachfully.
Emma grins, her lashes shielding her eyes as she glances down to locate her parents’ handheld mixer under the counter. “Admittedly, an oversight.”
He snorts. “I should say so.”
Regina arrives by the time Emma finishes whipping the eggnog mixture together. Per Snow’s prediction, Henry’s other mother appears to be in good spirits and doesn’t have a hint of bah humbug about her. The corner of Emma’s mouth quirks as she watches the woman cuddle Neal on her lap and entertain him by conjuring little dancing lights in the palm of her hand. She hasn’t doubted Regina’s ability to find redemption for a long time, but there’s still something heart-warming about seeing the woman who was once the Evil Queen now joining her family to celebrate a holiday like Christmas. Honestly, if Emma thinks about it, stories like Regina’s and Killian’s, stories about lost souls consumed by sadness and resentment who, through the love and forgiveness of others, found their good hearts and new beginnings – those are some of the most Christmas-y stories of all.
The eggnog chills in the refrigerator while they sit down to dinner, pushing another table end-to-end with her parents’ regular one in order to make room for all seven of them and the impressive spread. Everyone has too much to eat; they all do a double-take when even Henry slumps back in his chair and claims he’s so full he can’t move.
He does move, eventually, as do the rest of them, when Neal's bedtime rolls around. Emma's little brother hurries about giving goodnight hugs and kisses to all assembled before Snow shuttles him up the stairs. The rest of the party migrates to the kitchen. Henry joins Killian and David in clean-up duty, Regina seats herself at the breakfast bar, and Emma hauls the eggnog out and begins to ladle it into mugs.
Regina lifts the mug Emma hands her and studies the cold white concoction dashed with nutmeg inside. “What is it?”
“Eggnog,” Emma explains. “It’s a Christmas tradition.”
Killian sips from his mug tentatively and furrows his brow as he licks a trace off the bottom edge of his moustache. “It goes down well enough, love,” he comments, setting it on the counter and reaching for his flask, “But I agree it could use a little something.”
David, hands tied up in the sink, agrees to a little splash of liquor in his cup as well, and Killian turns next to Regina, brows raised. “Your Majesty?”
Regina eyes her eggnog again, unconvinced of its merits, before holding it out to him and nodding. “What the hell.”
Killian chuckles and pours her a healthy dose. He tucks his flask away, retrieving his cup and clinking it against hers. “Cheers.”
Regina’s forehead wrinkles as she drinks, and she swirls some eggnog around her mouth like a sommelier before swallowing. Her frown disappears, and she pooches her lower lip and shrugs. “Well, what do you know? I guess rum is good for something after all.”
Killian laughs and points at her approvingly, cup in hand. “Ah, you see? There may be hope for you yet.”
While they wait for the pie to re-warm and for their stomachs to recover enough to eat it, Henry convinces them to play a few rounds of dice, using sugar-coated peanuts to wager. Regina initially sniffs at the idea of participating in such a boorish activity, but she begrudgingly allows her son to teach her how to play. Once she shoots her first game, however, her competitive nature takes over and she proves to be quite aggressive, especially when pitted against Killian, who is, naturally, the most experienced player in the room. Her enthusiasm only grows after her second cup of eggnog, her cheeks becoming delightfully rosy and her laugh a little louder, and Emma and Killian share amused looks when she goads them into playing one last game.
“Why, Regina,” Killian quips, “Who knew you’d make such delightful company with a few shots of rum in you?”
“Shut up, Pirate, and place your bet.”
It’s a great night overall, but the highlight comes near the end, after they consume the pie, when Killian gets up to take the dirty plates to the kitchen and David, who’s preparing to wash more dishes, meets him halfway.
Regina, her dark eyes still shining and a little glassy, suddenly cackles and points. “Hook is under the mistletoe,” she sing-songs.
Killian looks up to see David’s share of the plant hanging from the wooden beam above them. He glances at the Prince and rolls his eyes as he begins to turn back to Regina. “Surely, you don’t expect me to—” His words are cut off when David, who’s also enjoyed a couple servings of eggnog, merely plants a big smacking kiss on his cheek and walks back to the kitchen sink as if nothing ever happened.
Regina snickers. Snow titters behind her hand. Emma laughs until tears sting her eyes and her diaphragm hurts and the baby begins to kick. And Henry looks around at their family with a grin almost wider than his face and declares that for people who have never done Christmas before, they’re pretty awesome at it.
Thanks for reading! Ready for more? Click here for the next chapter!
Whoo-hoo! I made it! Chapter 3 delivered on time, as promised. Your week of holiday domestic Captain Swan continues! @xhookswenchx, you mentioned wanting to see our babies arguing over stuff. You got it. ;) I hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone for reading. I look forward to your comments as always.
Find it on AO3. Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.
Summary: When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming. Canon Divergent. Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut. Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)
Requested tags: @optomisticgirl, @deathbycaptainswan. Want to be tagged on updates? Let me know!
Chapter 3: The Total Agony of Being in Love
Emma stands on the sidewalk, the air biting at her skin and wearing at her patience while she listens to her husband and her son coming up with a game plan to hang the dozens of feet of icicle lights they’ve purchased to adorn their house. She’s been here almost ten minutes, having initially ventured outside to bring them a thermos of hot chocolate, but delaying her return to the house after realizing that they intend to dress, not only on the roof overlying the porch, but every section of roof up to the third floor turret. It’s a far more ambitious undertaking, and it strikes her as requiring the aid of a cherry picker. Or a friendly fairy. And judging by their talk, they plan on employing neither.
She hovers behind them as they confer and gesture and nod enthusiastically about the best places on the roof to stand and whether it’s better to climb up with a ladder or duck out through some of the upper windows. Emma folds her arms across her chest, as much out of skepticism as a desire to stay warm, and narrows her eyes when Henry starts suggesting they build a rig with a two-by-four and a coat hanger to be able to reach the second floor eaves that wrap around the east side of the house. “Okay. No,” she finally interjects. “No.”
Both men crane their heads around to look at her, expressions not unlike the ones they wore that time she caught them eating the pie she was planning to bring to Sunday family dinner.
“What?” Henry asks cautiously.
“No, you are not going to try to climb on top of the roof like that, much less with some MacGuyvered contraption,” she says, waving one mittened hand abstractly.
“I don’t know what that last bit means, Swan, but you needn’t worry. The lad’s not going up on the roof,” Killian replies in a perfectly sensible tone. “I am.”
Emma blinks owlishly at him. “Because that’s a much better idea?” she challenges with an incredulous little laugh.
He gives a minute shake of his head and waves off her concerns. “I’ll be fine, love.”
“Yes, you will, because you’re not doing it.”
He arcs an eyebrow at her, annoyance finally starting to appear in his blue eyes. “I’m no stranger to climbing, you know,” he points out.
“Rigging, yes. Beanstalks, yes. Steep, Victorian-style rooflines, no,” she retorts, her lips pressed into a line.
He throws another glance up at the dark gray asphalt shingles and shrugs. “It won’t be that bad.”
She snorts. “Famous last words,” she says flatly. “You know, just because Zeus resurrected you once doesn’t mean he’ll do it again.”
“It’s not that steep,” he argues.
“It’s a 45-degree incline!”
He smirks, his stupidly handsome face now a means to irritate her. “You’ll catch me if I fall.”
“Or I could just magic the lights up there in five seconds and save you the embarrassment,” she answers, her voice on the edge of a snap.
Killian grumbles. “I’m not going to embarrass myself.”
“You’re going to end up on the front page of the Mirror. ‘Legendary 300 Year-Old Pirate Breaks Back Hanging Christmas Lights.’ Regina would never let you hear the end of it.”
Henry snickers.
Killian shoots his co-conspirator an indignant look at his betrayal.
Emma huffs. “This is ridiculous. It’s freezing out here.” She spins on her heel and heads inside, waving her hand without a look back. The lights vanish from the boxes sitting at Henry’s feet and appear along the roofline, neatly hanging from the eaves on all three floors and swaying gently in the wind.
* * *
Killian hangs his head as Emma marches across the porch and goes into the house, shutting the front door a little louder than necessary behind her.
“So much for that,” Henry says resignedly. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text before bending down to gather the empty light boxes.
“Your mother is a bloody stubborn woman,” Killian grouses, reaching down to help load the rest of the boxes into Henry’s arms and then snagging the handle of the thermos with his hook.
The boy laughs. “And that’s news?”
A wry smile curls at the corner of Killian’s mouth. “Hardly.” He sighs. “This is what happens when you marry a bloody force of nature.”
“You get pretty Christmas lights?” Henry asks, grinning. He straightens and admires Emma’s work. “They do look really good.”
“Aye.”
They head around the side of the house in order to stow the boxes in the garage.
“She might have been right, you know,” Henry hazards, setting the stack on the workbench.
Killian gives him a rueful side-eye, waiting for him to come back outside before swinging the doors shut. “I know.”
Henry’s phone chimes as they climb the steps to the side entrance, and he checks it, tapping a return message. “Well, since we’re done early, I’m gonna go hang with Violet.” He pauses, tucking the phone back into his coat pocket. “Um, wait here a minute.” Killian regards him curiously as he hustles inside and reappears with his backpack a minute later. He tugs the zipper open and retrieves the mistletoe, pulling one of the stems free and handing it over. “You might need this.”
Killian chuckles and pockets the tiny sprig. “You’re a good man, Henry.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Henry raises his eyebrows in earnest. “Don’t abuse it,” he says gruffly.
Killian nods with a grin.
He finds Emma splayed out across the sofa watching a movie he doesn’t recognize. He hangs his coat up and approaches cautiously, scratching behind his ear. As he draws close, he notes a generous plateful of peppermint bark balanced on her baby bump and a half-eaten piece between her fingers, some of it wedged adorably in her cheek.
They’ve had a number of rows since he moved in over a year ago – arguments over which way to hang the toilet paper on the roll, how long to let dirty dishes sit in the sink, what Henry’s curfew should be and whether he should be allowed to have Violet up to his room – but Killian is grateful that their dust-ups are never very big. To be fair, after fighting about her extreme secrecy while a Dark One and her decision to turn him into a Dark One to save his life and whether he should return from the Underworld, everything else rather pales in comparison. In a strange way, they’re fortunate in that respect – they have the advantage of perspective, the memories of having lost and found one another again, of having faced and suffered death, of having to forgive and be forgiven for much more serious hurts, and after all their adventures, the ability to just live day-to-day with one another is something they both cherish too much to let little annoyances drive a rift between them.
Killian catches her eye and gives her a soft expression. “May I?”
Emma’s face remains neutral, but she accepts his outstretched hand and allows him to pull her upright enough that he can wedge himself between her and the arm of the sofa, her weight falling softly and comfortingly against his side as he drapes his elbow over the seatback.
He studies the scene on the television, watching a little boy describe being in love to his father as “total agony.” Killian’s mouth forms a little smile at the sentiment. “What are we watching?”
“Love Actually,” Emma replies, biting off another small piece of bark. “It’s a Christmas movie.”
“A movie about Christmas?”
She hums. “It’s more about love,” she says, “and how sometimes it’s complicated,” she sighs, “and sometimes it isn’t.”
He chuckles. “Indeed.” He reaches up and tentatively combs his fingertips through her hair, relaxing when some of the tension disappears from her shoulders.
They watch as a charming brown-haired man and woman engage in a sweet but flirtatious conversation. The woman exits, and the man’s face falls, conflicted and despondent over how much he fancies her.
Killian leans his head nearer to Emma’s. “The lights look very nice,” he murmurs.
She glances at him out of the corner of her eye before her gaze returns to the television. She licks her lips. “Thank you.”
“You did it much better than I could have.”
She chuffs. “You could have fallen.”
He makes a show of nodding his head, his face sincere. “Aye.” Emma looks at him, and he smiles apologetically. “Sometimes I still love a challenge.”
Her eyes pinch minutely, warming with fondness and understanding as she remembers the first time he said such a thing to her.
He drapes his arm over her shoulders and pulls her close, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and dropping a kiss on her crown. “I also enjoy spending time with Henry.”
Emma tenses for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take that away from you.”
He chuckles. “It’s alright, Swan. I’m sure we’ll come up with some other ill-conceived caper soon enough.” He smiles, aware, even without looking, that she’s rolling her eyes.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, snuggling closer.
His chest vibrates with a low, happy sound. “And you love me for it.”
She nods against him.
“Speaking of which.”
Emma raises her head to watch as Killian pulls his arm away and reaches into the chest pocket of his waistcoat to pull out the little bit of mistletoe. He grins and holds it above their heads, giving it a little shake and enjoying the way her eyes widen and a rosy flush blossoms on her cheeks.
She sets her plate aside, and Killian’s smile widens slowly and his eyes falls closed when she scoots up a little to press her mouth sweetly to his.
Her dimples are on full display as she pulls back a fraction. “Where did you find mistletoe?” she asks, amused.
“In the woods,” he answers, bumping her nose with his, “That extra stop we made on our way back with the trees. Quite the fascinating Christmas tradition.”
He leans forward and kisses her again, and she giggles, acquiescing to part her lips and let him sweep her mouth with his tongue. Her fingers wind into the short tendrils at the back of his neck as the sound of their increasingly labored breathing obscures whatever is happening on the television. She gives a needy whine, and he growls, pulling her over so she lies half in his lap, pressed to his chest with her back to the movie.
Emma breaks away suddenly, panting. “Where’s Henry?”
“He went to see Violet.” Killian lowers his head to chase her mouth, but she withdraws a little further.
“Wait. Does he have mistletoe, too?” Her brow wrinkles with panic.
Killian flops his head back onto the cushion. “It’s not as though he’s never kissed the girl, Swan.”
“But…”
He lifts an eyebrow and looks down at her archly. “Does mistletoe dictate more than kissing? Because if it does, I have been sorely misinformed.”
“No!” She chortles in spite of herself. “No.”
“Then he’ll behave. Or Sir Morgan will run him through with his sword.” Killian grins at the laughter in his wife’s eyes and shifts his arms to pull her closer. “Now, since we’re alone, is there a chance that I could see more than kissing?”
“Hmph.” Emma teases her lips against his. “Maybe.”
Thanks for reading! Ready for more? Click here for the next chapter!
